by JL Simpson
“What did you find out?”
Daisy tugged Mrs. Henderson’s book out of her bag, and waved it at him. “Mrs. Henderson keeps a note of the number plates of all the vehicles that come and go in the street, including the blue van that arrived last Wednesday, and collected a standard poodle from Sean.”
Solomon veered left, and Daisy grabbed the door handle to stop herself from toppling over into his lap.
“What the hell are you doing?”
The SUV shuddered to a halt in a parking spot between a motorbike and a beaten up old Ford. He grabbed the book from her, and pulled his phone from his pocket.
*
Solomon selected the number for Mavis, and hit call, as he flipped through the pages of Mrs. Henderson’s book. He already had his suspicions about who Sean’s uncle was, but confirmation would allow him to skip the interrogation part of the interview, and go straight to torture, if the man refused to tell him where the bleedin’ dog was.
Mavis answered on the fourth ring. “This is Mavis.”
“Solomon. I need a favor.”
“I’m not sure I’m in the mood to give you anything, after the way you treated me.”
“How’s Detective Hastings?”
“Fine.”
“Then you’ve not told him what you were doing at my house?”
“No. Why? Are you planning to? I should warn you that blackmail is not the way to win my cooperation.”
“I know you prefer seduction, but I’ve not got the time. How about I tip you the wink to the whereabouts of the people responsible for killing Chester and Candy Mars?”
“You know who killed them?”
“Not quite yet, but I’m getting close.”
“Then you should pass on your information, and leave it to us.”
“Not going to happen. Are you in?”
The line went silent for a moment. “Okay. What do you need?”
“Are you at work?”
“Does that make a difference?”
“I need you to check a registration number for me.”
“If I get caught, I could be in deep shit.”
“So don’t get caught. Write this down.” He read out the details.
“Okay, I’ve got it. Give me ten minutes, and I’ll call you back.”
“Thanks.”
“You owe me.”
“Don’t worry. You won’t regret it.”
“I regret a lot of things about you.”
Solomon chuckled. “Is failing to seduce me one of them?”
“Goodbye, Solomon.”
He threw the phone on the dashboard, and glanced at Daisy. She glared at him.
“What?” he asked.
“Do you remember Belinda?”
“Tall, blonde, a great pair of—”
“Yes, that would be her. Alone, injured, and supposedly dating you.”
“Alone and injured because of you, and one night out isn’t dating.”
Daisy’s expression turned earnest. “I like Belinda. Please don’t mess her around. She’s really hung up on you.”
“She’s hung up on the idea of me. The reality may be something different.”
Daisy raised an eyebrow. “Ain’t that the truth?”
Solomon frowned. He knew Belinda was starry eyed about dating him. She thought being a PI was exciting. It actually used to be quite boring, but since Daisy had been around, it had become downright dangerous. “It might be better.”
“But more likely worse.”
Solomon placed his hand on Daisy’s knee. “Princess, what happened to the newfound love we had for each other?”
She pushed his hand off. “It died when you started yelling at me in the street.”
“And there I was, thinking you’d finally given in, and admitted to yourself Paul was a mistake and it was me you really wanted.”
“Are you on medication?”
“Why would you ask a thing like that?”
“Because a delusion that big, without the aid of an infusion of chemicals, could be the sign of a really serious mental illness.”
Solomon leaned over, and planted a kiss on her cheek. “You know you can’t resist me.”
Daisy shoved him back into his seat. “I can, and I do. I thought you were mad at me.”
“I was, but I decided to give you a break.”
“Because?”
“Because, for once in your life, you did something useful, even though you injured Belinda in the process.”
“I didn’t coerce her. She came willingly.”
“You shouldn’t have asked her. The Bamford Estate isn’t the place for the likes of Belinda.”
Daisy shifted her focus to the motorbike parked in front of them. “I did wonder if your life was the place for the likes of Belinda. She would go great with the house and the sports car. She likes the idea of a bit of rough, but perhaps your life is too dangerous for her.”
Solomon sighed. “I’ve thought the same thing myself, but a man can only resist temptation for so long.”
“You will be careful with her. Won’t you?”
“I’ll treat her like my ma’s best china.”
“Make sure you do.”
Solomon’s phone jangled to life, and danced across the dashboard. He snatched it up, accepted the call, and pressed the phone to his ear.
“The van belongs to a Henry Randall. Do you need the registered address?”
“No. I know where he lives.”
“Are you going to tell me what he has to do with the murders?”
Solomon smiled. “Eventually.”
“Also, someone came in earlier and posted Lisa’s bail.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is Lisa now?”
“She gave the address of a woman called Holly Banks.”
“Thanks, Mavis.”
He had no idea what Lisa was playing at, but her safety was no longer his concern. He ended the call, and tossed the phone to Daisy, before slamming the SUV into gear and pulling back into the flow of traffic to the accompaniment of blaring horns and some interesting gestures from other drivers.
Chapter Fifty-One
Daisy looked around as they drove into the car park at Mr. Randall’s kennels. “How are we going to play this?”
“We aren’t playing this at all. You need to stay here.”
“Why?”
“Because you won’t be implicated, if Mr. Randall has an unfortunate accident.”
Daisy laughed, and then met Solomon’s gaze. “Shit. You’re not joking, are you?”
“I never joke, when I’m dealing with Molly’s safety.”
“How do you plan to keep her safe, if you’re in jail?”
“Not going to happen, Princess.”
“Then there’s no problem with me coming with you, is there?”
Daisy opened the door and climbed from the SUV, before he could offer a response. Solomon joined her, as she strode toward the gate. She glanced at him. “Do you notice something?”
“What?”
“Mr. Randall didn’t greet us with his shotgun in hand.”
Solomon grabbed her arm. “Good point. Let’s take this slowly. Get behind me.”
“What is this obsession you have with me walking behind you whenever things get exciting?”
“Dangerous, Princess. Whenever things get dangerous. Paul charged me with your safety, and I don’t plan on letting him down. Besides, I figured you’d like another opportunity to stare at my amazing arse.”
Daisy rolled her eyes. “You really love yourself, don’t you?”
Solomon glanced over his shoulder at her. “If you weren’t impressed by my butt, you wouldn’t be blushing.”
“I’m not blushing.” She shoved him in the direction of the gate, and walked behind him. “It’s not like you have a ten out of ten on the butt-o-meter.”
Solomon’s shoulders started shaking.
“Stop laughing, or I’ll smack you on your less-than-perfe
ct arse.”
“What number would you give it?”
“Not saying.”
“More than five?”
“Not saying. Don’t we have a job to do?”
“More than six?”
“Oh for God’s sake, your arse is a seven. Now can we go and talk to Mr. Randall, before he blows our heads off with his shotgun?”
“So you do rate it.” He turned his head, and raised an eyebrow. “I can live with a seven. Do you want to know what your arse rates, out of ten?”
“No. Not really. I thought we were working.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you later.”
Daisy shook her head. Like she cared how highly he rated her backside. It wasn’t as toned as it could be, but she was sure it was more than a five. Maybe she’d go back to the gym, and work on it a little. That was probably his evil plan, to give her a low score and guilt her into exercising. “I can hardly wait.”
Solomon stepped forward, and she grabbed the back of his jacket, suddenly not so sure this was a good idea. “Do you think he shot Candy?”
“I doubt it.”
“But you’re not sure?”
“You can never be sure about anything, Princess.”
*
Solomon stepped through the side gate, and made his way up the path to the front door of Mr. Randall’s dilapidated house. Daisy’s fingers were cool against his skin, as she slid them into the back waistband of his pants. He wished he’d brought his gun. Daisy’s comment that it was odd Mr. Randall wasn’t waiting with his shotgun was right on the money. Something was wrong. Had the Poles found him first, and killed him? And if that was the case, had they left, or were they still inside?
After taking a deep breath, and focusing on steadying his heart rate, Solomon glanced over his shoulder at Daisy. She nodded, in response to his unasked question. He stepped to the side of the door, and curled his fingers around the brass handle. It turned, and with a gentle shove the door swung open. Silence. No one jumped out filling the air with bullets or shotgun pellets. Solomon glanced around the corner. The hallway was empty. He stepped inside, and felt Daisy follow.
A loud whistling sounded from the back of the house. Solomon stopped, and Daisy bumped into him. He reached back to steady her.
“Do you want a cup of tea?”
Solomon stared in disbelief, as Mr. Randall appeared at the end of the hallway.
“What the feck? We could have been anyone. We could have killed you.”
“I saw you arrive on the monitor I’ve got set up in my study. I’ve been expecting you.”
“Why?”
“I’m not stupid. It would either be you or the cops.”
Daisy stepped around Solomon. “Because you killed Candy and Chester?”
Mr. Randall shook his head. “No. Because whatever is going on has something to do with that dog Sean stole from them. Do you want a cup of tea?”
Solomon stepped toward Mr. Randall. “What I want is to know what you did with the dog.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Who does?”
Mr. Randall shrugged. “No idea. He disappeared from my kennels last night.”
Daisy took a step toward the kennel owner. “When I came to visit, you denied any knowledge of Johnny’s whereabouts.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“When Sean asks you to do something, you do it. If he says hide a dog, you hide it. Not much point in hiding it, and then showing it off to the first person who comes asking about him. You were hardly about to search the place.” Mr. Randall laughed. “Not after you met Herculia.”
“Did you set her on me on purpose?”
“No. That was a happy accident.”
“What if your shotgun was loaded? I could have killed her.”
“It wasn’t loaded.”
Solomon interrupted the conversation. “Even if it were, she was never in danger. You’re a lousy shot, Princess. Now can we get back to the whereabouts of the dog?”
“Like I said, someone stole him.”
“Where’s his dog coat?”
“He didn’t have a coat. He wore the one Wellington used to wear.”
“Who the feck is Wellington?”
Randall’s shoulders drooped. “Wellington was a Crufts’ champion.”
Daisy looked at Solomon. “He died in a car accident.”
If the dog wasn’t wearing his own coat, the Poles were still out of luck, tracing the missing jewels. Sean had to have found the treasure, and stashed it somewhere else. Taking the dog and hiding it at Randall’s was a smoke screen, unless… “What’s buried behind your shed?”
“What?”
“You heard me. What’s buried behind your shed?”
“Sean buried Wellington for me.”
“I need a shovel.” Solomon strode back toward the front door. “Daisy?
She glanced at Randall, and then back at Solomon. “Coming.”
Randall threw the teatowel he had draped over his shoulder onto the hallstand, and followed. “Where are you going? You can’t go digging up my garden without permission.”
Solomon turned and stared at Randall.
The man glanced away. “Fine. I’ll get a shovel.”
Daisy shook her head. “Those eyes of yours should come with a health warning. Does anyone ever say no to you?”
Solomon smiled. “Not often, Princess.”
They made their way to the back of the shed, and when Mr. Randall arrived with a shovel, Solomon got busy digging. A small steel box was buried just below the surface. Once it was uncovered, Solomon reached down and lifted it out onto the path. It was the size of a shoebox. A rusted padlock held the clasp shut. Solomon slammed the cutting edge of the shovel into the lock, and it fell apart. Daisy reached down, and glanced up at Solomon as she lifted the lid.
She reached inside, and slipped her hand into the clear plastic bag that kept the contents safe and dry. When she freed the red felt dog coat from the box, she handed it to Solomon. He threw the shovel aside, and felt the fabric. The seams were thicker than the rest of the garment. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a Swiss Army Knife, and used the blade to slice through the fabric.
“Hold out your hands, Princess.”
Daisy did as he asked, and he shook the coat until the hidden gems fell into Daisy’s cupped palms.
She smiled up at him. “Woohoo! We found them.”
Solomon closed the blade, and shoved the Swiss Army Knife back in his pocket, before picking up one of the jewels. He held it up to the light. “Fake.”
Daisy frowned. “What? They can’t be.”
Solomon shifted his focus to Mr. Randall. “You don’t seem surprised to find a stash of diamonds behind your shed. You know more than you’ve told us.” Solomon took a step toward the dog breeder. “Where’s Sean?”
Mr. Randall shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You knew he buried this, though. Didn’t you?”
“I knew he buried something. He told me it was best I didn’t know what, and he’d be back to collect them. I haven’t seen him since.”
Daisy growled, and put her hands on her hips. “So we’re back to square one.”
Solomon’s mouth curved up in a lopsided smile. “No, we’re not. Fakes will do the job.”
“What about him?” She nodded her head toward Mr. Randall?
“He knows too much. We need him out of the way. Call Dan, and tell him you suspect Mr. Randall’s gun was used to kill Candy.”
“I didn’t kill Candy.”
Solomon strode back toward the front gate. “I know that, but the cops don’t. You can help them with their enquiries. I’m doing you a favor, Randall. The real killers won’t be far behind us. You’ll be safe and sound in police custody, and they’ll let you out eventually.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Daisy sped away from Solomon’s house. She still wasn’t sure about his plan. They’d gone back to the office, and he’d typed some fil
e notes and emailed a copy to his home email address. All she knew for sure was that tomorrow she’d be attending the dog show in Bristol. Initially Solomon had planned to use Mavis to flush out the killers, but Daisy had done so much to help solve the case, she didn’t want to miss out on seeing the bad guys getting arrested. She threatened to follow him to Bristol on her own if he didn’t take her, and he’d given in and reluctantly agreed to her seeing it through to the end.
Once it was decided Daisy would be involved, Solomon figured they might as well use the fake ID the police had created for her. They would set off in a couple of hours. Solomon would be traveling as her photographer husband, Mike. Daisy would use her fake persona, Scarlet, to pretend to be a reporter to gain access to the show. However, as far as the Poles were concerned Scarlet was really Lisa, and Mike was a bodyguard she’d hired to protect her and the jewels, until she passed them on to a buyer set up by Sean before he disappeared. The handover would take place at ten thirty, at the dog show.
If Paul found out she’d convinced Solomon to use her as bait, he’d go mental, which was why Solomon made her swear not to tell him. Another secret she had to keep. Her new career was starting to affect her marriage. She never kept anything from Paul in the past, but then he’d been keeping things from her ever since they met, apparently. She sighed. Once this was over, she was going to have it out with Paul. They needed to clear the air. She loved the man to bits, and wanted to get all dreamy eyed in her old age about Paul, the way Mrs. Henderson did about her Charlie.
She pulled into the front drive behind Paul’s car, switched off her engine, engaged the brake, and climbed out of her hatchback. He was home early. She glanced at her watch. Solomon would be around to collect her in two hours. The front door swung open as she hit the button to lock her vehicle.
Paul’s smile was as slow and sultry as the music that spilled out into the front porch. “I thought we would do something special for our anniversary this year.”
Daisy hesitated for a moment. Had Paul lost his mind? Their wedding anniversary was months away in May. “What anniversary?”
Paul frowned. “You’ve forgotten.”
“I haven’t because it’s not our wedding anniversary.”
Paul tugged her inside and helped her off with her jacket. “I know, but I figured you could use a pick me up, and what better way to do that than celebrate every anniversary, starting with the one that marks the day we first met?”